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“I told you, I don’t know! He hasn’t been here for a month!” the woman wept, tears streaming down her face.
“You’d better start speaking the truth, or your children will suffer the consequences,” the insurgent threatened. His partner reached behind the mother, grabbed Atal by the arm, and forced him onto his knees. Terrified, the boy trembled, his wide eyes darting anxiously between the armed men.
“No!” the woman shrieked, throwing her arms around both her children as she crouched beside them.
“Your husband went into battle against the Americans. Did he betray us and join their ranks?” the insurgent demanded.
“He would never do that! He is not a dishonorable man! He was only fighting for his family…” The woman buried her face in her veil, weeping bitterly on the ground.
“That is not how we see it.”
“You are persecuting your comrade’s family! Have you no fear of God?!”
The insurgent handed his rifle to his comrade, drew a sidearm from his waist, and aimed it directly at Atal’s forehead.
“You have three seconds. Tell me where your husband is, or one by one… One…”
“Shoot me instead! What fault is it of the child?! Please…” the woman sobbed, as the man continued his count.
When the count reached “three,” the mother threw her body over her son, shielding him from the barrel of the gun. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the gunshot and the cold embrace of death.
Up on the ridge, Taylor’s finger rested firmly on the trigger, his scope reticle locked squarely on the head of the insurgent aiming at the mother and child. His heart hammered violently against his ribs…
At that precise moment, the radio on the insurgent’s belt squawked loudly with static. Stopping the count, he stepped aside to answer the call. Moments later, he turned back, hanging his head in quiet resignation. He walked slowly back toward the family.
He gestured to his men with a wave of his hand, signaling them to stand down. The insurgents lowered their weapons.
Looking down at the mother, the insurgent spoke in a flat, somber voice:
“Your husband gave up his soul honorably on Mount Imbir.”
The woman’s eyes widened in horror, fixed on the man’s lips. Her mind struggled to process the devastating news.
The insurgents climbed back into their vehicle and sped away, leaving behind a trail of dust.
Left behind in the dirt, the woman pulled her two children tight against her chest. Heartbroken and weeping bitterly for herself and her now fatherless children, she surrendered to the overwhelming weight of grief…
The day turned to mourning. The silence in the house was no longer mere stillness; it had transformed into a profound requiem.
Day 16. Night
The famine gripping the household reached a critical threshold. There was virtually nothing left to eat — only water and the dried stalks and roots gathered near the well.
Weakened by hunger, the woman emerged from the house. Her slow, deliberate steps brought her to the edge of the well. Leaning over, she peered into its dark depths. The full moon reflected upon the dark water, its silver light rippling across the nocturnal waves. Closing her eyes, she opened her hands in prayer.
“O God… I never doubt Your providence. If You have granted me the breath to pray, then hope remains. Ease our family’s burden, and grant abundance to our daily bread…” she whispered softly.
Wiping her hands over her face in blessing, she quietly slipped back inside. Shortly after, the dim glow of the kerosene lamp went out.
Up on the ridge, watching her desperate prayer through his night-vision optic, Taylor realized with a heavy heart that there was no way out for them. In the middle of this vast desert, the family was slowly fading away.
Day 17. Midday
Taylor’s own supplies were nearly exhausted. For several days, he too had been surviving on severely reduced rations and small sips of water. Both the harsh military conditions and his own choices had brought him to this point. Below, in the courtyard, Atal secretly retrieved another handful of dry food pellets from the MRE hidden in the woodshed nook. Playing a game with the puppy without revealing his source, he tossed the pellets across the yard, watching the pup crunch on them happily.
Suddenly, the radio at Taylor’s collar crackled back to life.
“Point 5, Point 5! A large contact is approaching the homestead. Possible enemy infantry unit. Image quality is degraded. Confirm contact!” the operator ordered.
“Copy.”
Taylor adjusted his sniper optic toward the designated vector, bringing the image into sharp focus.
“Base, contact identified. It is a shepherd boy driving his flock of sheep,” he reported.
“Report any suspicious activity,” the operator replied before cutting the link.
Riding atop a pristine white camel, the young shepherd drove his herd near the homestead. His massive shepherd dog barked loudly, keeping the scattering flock in neat order.
Drawn by the dog’s formidable barks, Atal and his mother stepped outside. Sitting near the wooden fence, the tiny puppy began running back and forth in excitement, delighted to spot its mother in the distance. Bound by the fence, however, it couldn’t cross. The mother dog trotted up to the fence, pressing her nose through the gaps to lick and scent her pup.
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